


There's Blood in my Hair

by Folle



Category: Black Christmas (1974), The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Creampie, Crying During Sex, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Running Away, Threesome - M/M/Other, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folle/pseuds/Folle
Summary: Collection of my Brahms x Billy Lenz x Reader prompt fills from tumblr (slashiest-slasher).Chapter 1: Reader gets a call from Billy Lenz after running away from the bloodbath at the sorority. They prepare from him, and Brahms get a little violent from the sudden arrival of one Billy Lenz.Chapter 2: When Brahms walks in on Billy Lenz going down on the reader, he does the only reasonable thing: he runs away.Chapter 3: Brahms goes buck wild trying to get the reader's attention, and willingly goes down on Billy when they make a testy promise.(More chapters to be added as I write them)
Relationships: Billy Lenz/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/Original Male Character(s), Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/Reader/Billy Lenz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

All you wanted was to leave behind that entire fucking mess that happened over at your college. All the murders at the sorority you were 100% not supposed to be crashing at, the creepy crank calls that left shivers up your spine, and the distinct feeling there was someone up in your attic.

You thought, hell, I just graduated! Why not take up a job in an entirely different country? If it’ll get you away from the nightmares of all the dead bodies and heavy breathing voices and squeals from the phone.

The instructions you were left were more than cryptic, and the following days when you couldn’t contact the Heelshire’s at their hotel room was even more puzzling. the whole mystery surrounding the doll left your head spinning, but it was the creaking from the walls that sent shivers up your spine.

When a grown, and very hairy man wearing a mask crawled out when you tried leaving just for a walk through town. He had grabbed you shyly by your sleeve and asked you in a small and babyish voice to stay.

For a moment, you were going to run. It was the same, someone hiding within the unseen part of the house, watching you, but the demure way he was presenting himself was nothing like you imagined the Moaner to act like. Then that baby voice clicked, and you knew that this must be Brahms, somehow alive after all those years.

Things were different and the same since then. He was more obvious with crawling through the walls, and you saw more of this man who easily and regularly overpowered you. But he had the temperment of a child and that was easy to deal with, as long as you spoke to him like one.

Yeah, sometimes when you gave him his goodnight kiss he would try pushing things further, and you would have to scold him and tell him that was a very rude thing to do. But in all honestly, it was an easy life to be lulled into, and aside from the occasional nightmare or flashback, that whole mess at the sorority was nearly completely forgotten.

You were pushed into a full relapse when the hallway phone rang while you were preparing. You managed to get Brahms to stir the pot of soup, despite him being barely able to stand from the cold he caught, with him whining about it the entire time.

“Heelshire residence,” yous chirped, leaning against the wall. But all you got in response was dead air. “Hello?” You repeated several times, each time more and more dread rising in your gut.

Eventually, there was a shrill giggle on the other end. “Agnes, it’s me Billy!” he says in a moment of composure. _“Don’t tell them Agnes, don’t tell them where you are. It’s just us.”_ He lets out a heavy, shaking sigh before snorting and snuffling. _“I- I’ll fuh- fuck your piggy ass, lick you aaallll up. G-g-give you my f-fat juicy cock!”_

Your legs give out underneath you, but you clutch the receiver to your ear. “This isn’t fucking funny! How’d you get this number?” He couldn’t be here, didn’t Jess kill him? And how does some sick fuck like him even get a plane ticket, let alone make it through an airport?

Brahms peers into the hallway, but you shoot him a look and wave him away.

 _“You wa-want me stick m-my tongue up your pretty pinky ass? Filthy, filthy Billy, I’ll fuck y-y-y-you all good. Know you wants it, seen y-you piggy, seen you all pink and bothered when Billy calls,”_ he lets out another choking laugh. _“I’m going to get you,”_ he says, before the line goes dead.

The receiver smacks into the wall when you finally let it out of your grasp. You expected there to be tears, for there to be something but heat and dread and anxious excitement roiling deep within, but there isn’t and it makes you sick.

You can hear the gas stove click off, and Brahms walks into the hallway. His eyes bug momentarily when they catch yours and see how blank they are. He scoops you up into his arms and sets you down on a nearby chair. His hands grab your face. “Who was that? Is everything okay?”

You plop your face into his shoulder, and even though you have been increasing the amount of hug you give him the past few weeks, he still flinches. “Just some creep crank calling. Nothing to worry about Brahmsy.”

You have to push yourself up, and lead him back to the kitchen where you finish up dinner, and manage to get him to eat an entire bowl before the heat made him too drowsy to sit upright.

It was quite the task to get up the stairs and into the master bedroom to tuck him in. You go through the entire routine even though there was still light in the sky. He _promises_ to stay in bed the entire night if you kiss him under his mask, and your mind is too far away to clearly deny him.

He covers your eyes with a large, overheated hand when he takes off his mask, and leads you down to press his lips to yours. He, of course, presses more urgently and runs his tongue along your lips, and tries to pull you into bed with him, like he does every night.

“Brahmsy, not tonight sweetie,” is all you can muster up.

“But some night?” How hopeful he sounds makes a weak smile come to your face.

“Lets get you over this cold first, then we’ll see. But if you’re a bad boy and get out of bed in the night, then it’ll be longer.”

Brahms doesn’t even care about you catching a glimpse of his face when he rushes to snuggle underneath the covers you pulled up tight around him, partially hiding his face.

You can see the smile in his eyes when you lean down to place a kiss to his forehead and ruffle his hair. “Call me if you need anything, alright?”

He nods and clutches the blankets tighter, pulling them up higher when you leave the room.

You don’t go back to your own bedroom, and instead head to the main foyer and sit down with a book in your lap, keeping a fixed stare at the main entrance, and Brahms’ hidden ones out of the corner of your eyes. If Billy was going to try and pull something, then let him. He was going to be in for a world of hurt if he disturbed Brahms, or something else entirely if he beelined straight for your.

-

The only reason you never picked up on Brahms crawling through the walls as keenly was, according to him, he knew how avoid making noise. Everything else echoed through the house like a gunshot. Every time Brahms tossed himself to his other side in his sleep, or when the heater clicked on, or the rats (friends, assured Brahms) in the walls scurried around.

So you heard as soon as the unlocked backdoor creaked open and softly shut, and someone padded through the house. You ensured that every window and door, sans that one was shut and locked tightly, and all the lights in that part of the house were turned off.

You didn’t know how he got into the sorority the first time, but you knew the girls there chronically forgot to lock the doors and windows.

Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so you could easily see a thin form go by the doorway of the foyer. “Billy,” you called out, loud enough for him to hear, but not enough for Brahms to pick up on.

Unlike his phone calls, he was deathly silent as he backtracked and entered the room. You could see an outline, a lithe man in a turtleneck and shoulder length hair. But the only thing you could see clearly was an eye illuminated by the moon coming a crack in the curtain.

He stood there in the middle of the room, staring you down. In a jerky movement, he lunges for you.

If you hadn’t been dealing with the living Brahms for the better part of a month, you likely would have tried to run, maybe scream, but you sat perfectly still, and gripped his wrist tight when he wrapped a hand around your throat.

He didn’t squeeze, maybe because of how surely and firmly you grabbed him, but let it rest there. Loose, but there was no way you were going to pry his hand off.

“What is it that you want from me Billy?” you asked, grabbing his other wrist, much tighter than the other one. “Do you want to kill me?” Your voice is soft.

He tries stuttering something out, but he can’t get the words to form, and his body shakes too much to keep his gaze on your face.

You can see his eye drift down to look at the rest of your body. “Do you want to fuck me Billy? You followed me all the way here for that?”

“Sick fuck!” he finally manages to get out, his voice not sounding like any you remember hearing over the phone. “Sick fuck! Sick fuck! Need help, Billy needs help. Need to find Billy, need to get Billy the help he needs. Want to give Billy a hug, a good hug, a tight hug. Billy needs a hug.”

It clicks when he rambles. You. That was you. You remember speaking with Claude after a call, because none of the sorority sisters wanted to hear about how the Moaner needed some serious psychiatric care. You held Claude in your your and sat right underneath the attic while you told that silly old cat in a hushed whisper what you really thought about Billy.

You’re just glad he has the hindsight to not bring up what you said right before, about how Billy’s ramblings turned you on, and how you’d probably let him go down on you if the mad lad just _asked_.

Billy suddenly collapsed into your lap, letting go of your neck. His legs bracketed yours on either side, clutched his hands tightly into the front of your shirt, and hid his face in your neck. Between the snuffles and snorts, you could make out him saying, “Billy wants help, if you give it to Billy. Give soft fuzzies and hugs and kissies.”

You wrap your arms around him, tight and sturdy to keep him pressed to your chest. He quiets down to barely audible muttering, but presses his face closer to your neck, taking in deep breaths of your scent. “I’ll help Billy, as long as Billy wants it.” Your assure him, rubbing his back.

He nods, and for a brief moment, everything is still and calm until the lights of the foyer are flipped on. You’re blinded for a moment until you can make sense of Brahms pulling Billy off of your and onto the floor.

You can see the rage and heat pulsing behind his eyes, a snarl on his unmasked face as he advances on Billy’s stunned and trembling form with a knife he must have snatched from the kitchen.

You don’t really think before launching yourself off the sofa. “Brahms, don’t you dare!” you shout at him, gripping the blade before he can swing it down.

Brahms drops it the instant he sees your blood spilling into the floor, but redoubles when Billy hides behinds your legs and grabs onto them. “You can’t have someone else! I’m the only one you’re allowed to love.” He grabs you by your wounded hand, squeezing tight, but you refuse to falter. He voice drops to his deep, adult voice. “You aren’t leaving me.”

There’s only one way you know how to deal with Brahms when he’s like this, so you square your shoulder and look him in the eyes, squeezing his hand back even tighter, no matter how much it hurt. “Brahmsy you are being an extremely naughty boy. You go back to your room _right_ now and we will talk about this in the morning.”

Something vicious flashes in his eyes, flickering between adult and child. “No!” he stomps his foot. “I’m not letting him take you away from me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Billy reaching for the fallen knife, so you stand on the blade. “You’re already not getting goodnight kisses for a week because of this, if you want that to be a month, you better get your ass up the bed!”

His eyes widen and he falters. “Y- you’re not leaving?” he asks, letting your injured hand drop.

“Shhh Agnes, don’t tell them we did. Naughty, filthy Billy, they get mad,” Billy whispers, looking up at Brahms. “Billy, Billy where’s the baby? What did you do to the baby?” his voice turns shrill, completely unlike himself.

“Shut up,” Brahms snaps, glaring at him. “He’s not staying here.”

“Yes, he is, because I’m in charge and I say so,” you snip right back, kneeling down to wrap your arms around Billy’s shoulders. “Billy, this is Brahms. We don’t hurt Brahms okay?”

In a voice eerily similar to yours, Billy speaks up again. “Brahms, naughty naughty Brahmsy. Do you know Agnes, Brahmsy?”


	2. Chapter 2

Brahms was very much, entirely, and completely not _happy_ with the current situation occurring at Heelshire manor, his God damn home.

Before, it was just him and his lovely, handsome nanny who seldomly raised their voice at him, cuddled him whenever he wanted, made him his favorite foods for dinner when he was good, constantly babied him, and most importantly of all, loved him wholly and without restriction.

But if there was one thing Brahms loathed more than anything, it was sharing his things. And yes, you might hate it when he calls you one of his things, but it’s the truth, right?

Ever since you insisted on that Billy creep stays here in _his fucking house_ , the amount of attention he was getting plummeted. And that smug Billy knew and relished in it.

He was always watching you, or demanding your attention, and curled up in your lap. That was Brahms’ place! That was supposed to be him laying his head in your lap and getting his hair soothed and played with. Brahms had to settle with sitting on the floor so you could rest a hand on his head and give his scalp scritches. Which wasn’t _awful_ , but Billy was stealing all your attention away.

Billy’s actions bore a striking resemblance to his own, but at least he had the common decency to not make those unbearable noises! Billy was always snorting, giggling, or muttering to himself, and when he talked with you, his voice was rarely calm. Always shrill or ear piercing, saying such disgusting things to you. Always propositioning you and grabbing you in lewd ways that you shrugged off like it was nothing. It always made Brahms’ blood rush to his head.

He would punch Billy for it, but the last time he had attacked that scrawny freak and gave him a split lit, you withheld all affection for an entire month! No goodnight kisses, no hugs, no cuddling, no handling. Nothing! All the while, that Billy got everything!

Brahms could, of course, always kill Billy and tie you up to your bed, but his heart ached and his gut twisted whenever he did something that made you cry. And that would certainly make you hate him forever.

And then there was Billy’s insistence on teasing Brahms! He would say the same disgusting things to him that he would to you, and when he was especially spastic, would paw at Brahms’ chest and thighs when he tried to extend his cuddling and hugging to include him.

You would it endlessly entertaining of course, and that was the only reason he didn’t snap Billy’s neck. Yeah, Billy made his skin crawl, but you lit up whenever you saw them hugging. And maybe there was something about holding Billy, fragile, moments from fracturing Billy, in his arms that made his heart thump.

You called him and Billy “your boys” and that made Brahms’ heart thump a certain way he couldn’t explain.

But all of that, Brahms could deal with. What really got him going was whenever Billy starting switching between his voices and muttering about Agnes or a baby, or naughty Billy. It doesn’t matter what you were doing, you would always drop whatever you were doing to rush to his side.

The worst part was that Brahms couldn’t even be mad at you or Billy for that. He knew there was something serious messed up with Billy, something that happened to him, something you wanted to figure out. And it was in those fits when he was at his worst and you needed to hold him to stop the tears and the tantrums he would throw through them.

If it were any other scenario, Brahms would have found and odd kind of kinship with Billy. Bad parents, living in hidden parts of a house, clinging to anything that gave them a moment of happiness.

But Billy was stealing you away, and Brahms couldn’t let that happen.

So he tried everything he could think of. When you wouldn’t even look at him because you were so wrapped up in whatever Billy was doing, he broke vases and plates and potted plants. He stole your clothes, your /underwear/, he let his rats play in your bed. But all that got him was ban on goodnight kisses and an angry lecture that made the bad feeling in his stomach worse.

Then he tried being an extra good boy. He showered every night, did the dishes without you asking, made his bed (and even yours and Billy’s!), dusted, and surprised you in bed with breakfast. Which got him the sweetest and warmest hugs and kisses that made the lust he felt for you grow exponentially. There were some nights he could hardly control it, and would have to sneak away to take care of himself before you tucked him into bed, or certainly he would do something unsavory that would make you extremely angry.

So, while there was no downside to being an extra good boy, it didn’t take any of your attention away from Billy.

The final straw was when you were late to tucking him. Five minutes to be precise. You were never late, ever. Even with Billy moving in, you always came in at the same time every night to tuck him him, run your fingers through his hair, and give him a goodnight kiss. On his lips too, not his mask anymore!

Brahms gets up from where he was sitting on his bed, and pads down the hall to your room. There’s a chance you could’ve dozed off (and in that case he could tuck you in!), or, and Brahms shudders at the thought, you were talking with Billy again. That creep rarely slept, so at night he was entirely yours. The mere thought made his skin itch.

He could clearly hear the moment he stepped out of his bedroom what exactly was holding you up. He could hear the disgusting, wet noises Billy was making, and you desperately trying to muffle yourself, but still moaning his name. He knew what was happening, and it made the rage inside him rise, but he needed to know for certain.

The moment he peered into your room, he immediately jerked back and pressed himself to the wall, eye shut tightly. It does nothing to settle his heart, which feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest.

Billy didn’t have his shirt on, and in the lamplight each and every scar was visible. His head was between your thighs - your _bare_ thighs - and Brahms couldn’t exactly see what he was doing, but whatever it was, it was making your back arch, legs tremble, and your face to be twisted in pleasure as you watched Billy intently.

You were absolutely gorgeous, warped in ecstacy and making some of the most beautiful noises Brahms had ever heard. If it weren’t for the cold dread settling in his stomach like a weight from _Billy_ , the entire situation would have been a page out of one his wet dreams.

“Fuck!” you muffle the moan into the crook of your arm. “Oh Christ! Oh, Billy, Billy, Billy! Please!” you whine, thrusting towards his mouth. As you get louder, you clasp your hands over your mouth, letting your body rock against the erratic, but brutal, rhythm Billy set for you.

There’s a part of Brahms that wants to storm in there, throw Billy off, and have it be _his_ name that you were moaning. Another part that wanted to throw a fit, and another that wanted to kill Billy where he stood. But he followed the impulsive tug in his chest to lead him back to his room, and start throwing clothes into a bag.

Fine, you wanted Billy instead? That’s what you were going to get. Who cares that this is his own fucking house, he’s going to leave, and you’re going to miss him and realize how bad you fucked up. How you should be showering Brahms with all this attention, instead of Billy.

How you should have just let him love you how he wanted, and if you had then Brahms would still be here.

He changes out of his pajamas into some, as you called them, “normal people clothes”: a t-shirt, jeans that were a bit to clingy than what Brahms was used to, a hoodie, and a sturdy pair of sneakers. You had wanted to go take him walking into town one day, once he was comfortable, but that was long out the window with _Billy_ around.

He throws what he can think of into his bag; another change of normal people clothes, his normal lounging and sleeping clothes, multiple changes of underwear and socks, a tiny stuffed rabbit he absolutely could not live without, some polaroids you had taken of the two of you (he shoved those in bitterly), and a wallet with about £400 of various bills and change in it. That was what he needed to sustain himself, right?

As he starts crawling out of the window, backpack slung on his back, he decides to leave his mask on his bed, and scribble a note out on a piece of paper saying he was leaving and never, ever coming back.

Climbing down the walls of the house was pretty, and scaling the front gate wasn’t too difficult, but Brahms understood _why_ exactly you insisted on a decent pair of sneakers. The nearest town was about a four hour walk. Which would have been fine if it hadn’t started downpouring 20 minutes after he left the manor.

The long, winding road that lead to the manor eventually connected up to a busier road after an hour after it started raining. He had seen it in some of the movies you had watched with Brahms - _curled up around each other, petting his hair and feeding him popcorn_ \- and stuck out his thumb and waited until a beat up car pulled up beside him.

“Where you need to go mate?” asked the man driving the car when he climbed in, eyeing him up.

“ _Nearest-_ ” when his baby voice came out, Brahms cleared his throat. “Nearest bus stop, thanks.” He looks down at the water dripping off of him and onto the seat, and forming puddles on the floor. Being kind and polite will get you anything you need, says a distinctly you sounding voice in the back of his head. “I’m sorry- about the mess.”

The man driving the car shrugged, and kept his eyes on the road. “Not a problem. I would be out of my mind if I didn’t stop to help someone out in this storm.” Brahms eyed him up from his peripherals. He looked kindly and neat, like the kind of man that wouldn’t look out of place in the archives section of a library. His hair was tidy, and there were spectacles that he consistently kept pushing up.

The man is quiet for a long while before he pipes up. “So why exactly was a heart throb like you hitchhiking on a deserted road?”

Brahms bites the inside of his mouth when his heart skips a beat. In a poor attempt to be inconspicuous, Brahms runs his fingers along the heavy burn scars on the side of his face. “Issues at home, don’t really want to talk about it that much.”

The man nod, and smiles. “No problem, I understand.” He doesn’t say anything for a bit, before speaking up again. “You a fan of early literature?” he asks, only taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glance over at Brahms, who nods.

“Mother insisted on having me read classical.” Brahms settles into his seat, the high strung tension seemingly having melted. “Except Oedipus Rex, of course.”

The man chuckles, and pushes his glasses up again. “Oh it was the same with my teachers when we were younger. Something we should really be reading once we were older.

And it’s all something so comforting and alien to Brahms that he can’t ever really recall. Just a casual conversing with someone he barely knows and will likely never see again.

They continue chatting amicably for a a while before it teeters off into a comfortable silence.

“What about you, why are you out here in weather like this?” Brahms asks, the question having been rolling around in his head since the man had asked.

He thrums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Oh, out to clear my head. I’m sort of in the same boat as you, issues at home I need to escape.”

Brahms waits a few moments before retorting. “Bit of shit weather to be doing that, isn’t it?” It makes the man chuckle.

A few minutes later, there’s a hand on Brahm’s thigh, heavy and warm like being under the covers for too long. He jumps at the contact, but keeps his breathing under control.

“I think the company more than makes up for it.” His voice is low and deep. He glances over at Brahms, searching his eyes. “Just another lonely soul, adrift and looking for any port in the storm.” He only lets his hand drift up further and press firmly when Brahms gives him a nod.

Well, _you_ wouldn’t give him this. You were seeking out other people to get off. Why couldn’t he?

When his hand creeps up his thigh, and massages his crotch, a similar, but colder, dream sinks in his stomach. The man continues to watch the road and smile as if nothing was amiss. The same tense, barely there trembling comes back.

He bites his bottom lip and lets his head fall back against the headrest when the man undoes his jeans and pulls his boxer just down enough to free his dick and stroke it. Brahms’ nerves rattle in a way that makes him nauseous. He couldn’t help but buck into the warm hand wrapped around him, and let out a deep whine at the friction.

This felt so, _so_ much better than his own hand. He hadn’t even realized how sensitive he was until now. Short, panting breaths come from his mouth, and he moans for more, _please, you-_

It hit him like a punch to the chest that he didn’t even know this guys name. That he had only known him for less than an _hour_. Brahms hand snapped from his side and gripped his wrist tight enough to grind his bones.

“Actually, could you pull over. I’ll walk,” he tells him.

The man thankfully retracts his hand while Brahms fixes his boxers and jeans. “Sorry, I must’ve misread the situation. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you the rest of the way? It’s a long walk.”

Brahms pulls his backpack into his lap, and nods, hugging it close. He’s not a fan of the biting cold and rain when he steps out of the warm, dry cab, but he couldn’t stay in there for another minute. The man gives him a curt nod before the door is shut and he’s driving away.

Brahms waits until the lights of the car are no longer visible before he sets off in the same direction.

By the time he makes it to the bus shelter, the sky is just only being lit up, and the rain is still coming down in sheets. He plops down on the swollen bench, and rests his head against the wall. All the muscles in his body ache, and he dozes off thinking he could be home right now, in bed, certainly angry, but he wouldn’t be shivering like a wet cat.

But if this teaches you a lesson that you need to appreciate him more, then so be it.

Brahms is awaken by the slam of a car door, and someone familiar yelling his name. The sun isn’t any higher in the sky, and it’s still coming down hard. But he sees you, desperately trying to shield yourself from the rain with a jacket.

“Brahms, what the hell!” you yell over the rain pattering against the bus shelter. You grip his upper arm tight enough to bruise when you sit down next to him.

He doesn’t even dignify looking you in the eyes.

You grab him by his face, and force him to look at him, shushing him and rubbing your thumbs across his cheekbones when he tries to jerk away. “Brahmsy, do you have any idea how worried you made me?” you ask gently, scooting closer to him. He tries to look anywhere but at your face. “You can’t run away like that, don’t you know how much it would hurt me?”

Billy crawls out of an open car window and sits at Brahms’ feet, resting a cheek against his knee. “Pretty Brahms, you sc-scared us,” he shift his voice slightly, slightly off but still close enough to his. “Where’s Brahmsy? Billy what did you do with Brahmsy?” He clutches Brahms’ calves tightly, digging his fingers into his wet jeans. “Brahms, where the hell are you! Brahmsy!” he yells.

When you go to run a hand though Billy’s hair to calm him down, Brahms intercepts it and laces your fingers. Always taking everything away from him.

Your eyes go wide when you put two and two together. “Is that what this is about?” you almost have the gall to giggle if Brahms hadn’t been looking down at Billy with such vehemence.

“But you let him do things to you,” Brahms grumbles, closing his eyes. “You won’t let me do those things. And he get all your good cuddles. And it always holding your hand.”

Your cheeks turn pink when he brings it up. “Well, I’ve known Billy for longer, since before I knew you.” You stumble across your words, trying to get them out. “But Brahms, you know I have two hands right? Both you and Billy can hold my hand.”

“ _But you’re **MINE**!_” Brahms whines, slipping into his childish voice. “ _I don’t want to share you!_ ”

“I do,” says Billy quietly. He leers his gaze over to you. “Can we share pretty Brahmsy? Please? So sweet and I want him, we can both share.” He asks so sweetly that Brahms doesn’t know what to say.

You smile, and free your hand to lean down and grab Billy’s. You place it in Brahms’ palm, and Billy seems quite content. His hand is bony and only slightly warmer than Brahms’, who has been in the cold rain for the better part of the night. But it feels oddly right.

“It’s not sharing, it’s the three of us, together. Billy’s quite taken with you, and you know I adore you. Will you give it a chance? Letting both of us love you.”

Brahms can only nod as tears well in his eyes. He hides his face in your chest. “ _I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you,_ ” he cries into your shirt.

Both you and Billy wrap your arms around him, Billy seating himself in his lap. “C'mon Brahms, let’s get you home and get us into a nice bath, then we can all get some sleep.”

Brahms nods shyly, and lets himself be led by Billy into the back seat while you climb into the driver’s seat. Billy wastes no time getting Brahms out of his wet clothes. It was a struggle normally with you, but Billy’s odd noises, lewd comments, and groping certainly don’t help. Brahms puts up a fight at first, until Billy starts nuzzling each inch of exposed cold, damp skin.

His heart flutters a bit when Billy grabs a fluffy towel from the boot of the car and rubs Brahms’ hair wildly. Brahms, naturally, swats at him, wrangling the towel away to dry himself off, but Billy simply grabs another and contributes, and tries to shimmy Brahms’ wet jeans and boxers off.

“Hmmm, mmm, pretty Brahmsy, all mine, wrap my lips around you pretty pink coh- huh, hmmmm…” Billy devolves into more humming as he moves down to dry Brahms’ legs. He leaves the towel draped across his lap, letting Brahms finish drying himself off while he rummages around in the boot for something.

Through the rearview mirror, Brahms can see your squinty eyes, and though he can’t see your mouth, he knows you’re smiling. So he puts up with it when Billy drags out a heavy quilt and bundles Brahms up in it, and pulls him to lean against his chest.

Billy twitches entirely too much for it to be comfortable, but having a pair of arms wrapped around him is more than soothing. And the fingers that run through his tangled, damp hair are rough, but the massage to his scalp is worth it.

Something white is flashed in front of him, and Brahms can just make it out in the dim light.

“Pretty Brahmsy want it? I’ll give it to you if you fuuuh- kiss my m-mouth.” Billy doesn’t wait for an answer, and leans down for a quick, burning kiss, certain to press his tongue up against Brahms’ lips before pulling away and placing Brahms’ mask in its rightful place.

Billy’s maniacal laughter makes him grumble, but he simply fixes his mask, and nuzzles his head against Billy’s chest.

It may not be what Brahms wanted, but he supposes it fine enough. Better than being being alone.

You turn the radio on low to a classical station, looking back on them fondly, and Billy makes quiet shushing noises and pets Brahms’ hair when he grumbles too much at his fingers pulling against the tangles.

Yeah, way better than being alone.


	3. Chapter 3

In a strange sort of happenstance, things seemingly balanced out in life for you and your boys. Brahms, the brat he is, of course demanded more and more attention, but what else could you expect from him? And Billy, despite swinging wildly between manic states and lulls of stability, had very little to complain about. Or at least you thought he did, it was hard to tell at times.

You could no longer follow the Heelshire’s strict routine that they had set up. You had already broken quite a few rules, but it really hit you in the face when you had to adjust Brahms’ nighttime routine.

Everyone, expectedly, demanded to sleep in your bed, although the bed that Brahms had been slepping in before would be much more fitting. Before Brahms threw a fit and ran away, he would sleep in the master bedroom and there was little you could do from Billy slipping into your bed after he had been tucked in.

He tends to cause a ruckus, make unsettling noises, and rub himself against you in a crude attempt to get you aroused. He moans loudly, jerks himself off regardless of if you join him or not, and spills filth from his mouth as he worked his cock over your body. If you let him, he lathes your body in kisses, or sucked and moaned around your fingers.

But he never touches you, never crosses the barrier of pleasuring you until you gave him that look, and say in that low, sultry voice of your, “C'mere Billy. I want you to be a naughty boy.” And he leaps on the chance to give you what he promised, even though he is usually too shy to do /everything/ he wants.

Throwing Brahms into the mix complicated and simplified things.

Once the three of you become an item (or a situation, as you prefer), Brahms of course moves right into your bed. He demands to be tucked into bed and given his goodnight kiss, even if he always ends up kicking off the covers and wrapping around you the moment you settled yourself in bed. You have Brahms on one side, rubbing his face to yours and running his hands along your body, and Billy on the others, arms around your waist and face pressed into your stomach like he didn’t need to breath.

Billy tries to be more courteous at night, taking care of himself in the bathroom. But there are nights he crawls into bed and discreetly works himself pressed up tight to your body and stuffs his fingers into his mouth to muffle his cries and whines. Brahms huffs and tosses himself to his other side and presses his hands tight to his ears.

It’s not like you can exactly blame Billy. It isn’t a pleasant thing to have such an active and high sex drive and developing such deep rooted need to get off before he could even think about sleeping is even worse. You are working to fix that, but thing are progressing at a snail’s pace.

Brahms just sees it as more attention Billy is taking away from him.

He thinks he’s being so coy when he strips and starts to play with himself when he knows you will be coming any minute to get him ready for bed. His nude body is on display for you to view, and he makes sure that his cock is front and center.

You are focused on the alarm clock in your hands when you walk in, and don’t immediately see him sprawled on his old bed. “Brahmsy, time for…” you jerk back when you finally look and see him looking at you with blown eyes, slowly working his cock. His breathing is loud and shaky underneath his mask. “…bed.”

He says your name, low and grumbling in his chest, watching you intently as you make your way to the side of the bed. Your fingers are hesitant and light when you run them down the side of his masked face, along his jaw, and down his neck. Brahms shakes like a leaf under your touch, pushing up into your hand when you let it rest on the crook of his neck.

He says your name again, this time in a desperate whine, and his strokes become more erratic, smearing his pre-cum that was beading on the tip.

“Brahmsy,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “Go to bed.” You lovingly pet his hair, but you can see the beginnings of irritation on his face. Before he can growl out your name, you cut him off. “I want you to get up - don’t put your clothes back on. Get up, then go lay down in my bed, and wait for me until I’m done getting ready. If you’re a good boy, I’ll give you what you want.“

His breathing had picked up as he listened raptly to each word coming from your mouth. He almost starts hyperventilating when you lean down and let your lips graze against his ear lobe. "And if you play nice with Billy, I’ll give you a very special treat.”

You let a hand run down his furry chest before stepping back and running your eyes down his form. When he doesn’t immediately leave, it only takes a nod of your head to the door to send him scampering.

Billy’s already in bed, eyes foggy but drowsy. He perks up when he sees Brahms come in, but sits up when he sees the state he’s in. The way oversized t-shirt he wears does absolutely nothing to hide his record-time erection.

Billy shoves the fingertips of one hand into his mouth, chewing and slobbering on them while Brahms walks up and towers over him. “Want me to su-suck your f-ffucking juicy cock, pretty Brahmsy?” he says around his fingers, staring up at him with those big, awful eyes. “I’m going to wrap muh-my lips around you, a-an-and drink your pretty pink dick up. Let you fuck my th-throat.” He settles his free hand on Brahms hip, grinning and giggling around his fingers.

Brahms doesn’t say anything, but he pushes Billy back onto the bed and crawls over him, hands on either side of his head. He decides that Billy isn’t all that bad looking.

He has soft, honey brown hair, pale green eyes, and this pale body hair that barely stands out from his skin. He is bone thin, but you had been feeding him up and exercising him properly, like you had with Brahms when he first came out of the walls. The muscles in his body are becoming more toned, but covered by a thin layer of fat.

And as much as he loathes to admit it, Billy made him pop uncomfortable boners more often than he would like. Sometimes it makes sense to him, like when he would tear off his clothes in a manic fit, or jerking himself off in the middle of the house.

But there were moments that confuses him, like when Billy bashfully let Brahms tie the apron behind him, or when he brushed his hair behind his ear when handing something to you, or when he was splayed across the bed early in the morning, having finally worn himself out, and the sun striped him with golden rays.

He knows not to react or say anything when you walk in, wearing /Brahms’/ pajamas, and sit yourself squarely in an armchair, one leg thrown over the armrest.

Billy goes to squeal something, but Brahms reacts quickly by hiking up his shirt, running his hands firmly up his sides. He lets out a high, breathy moan when Brahms circles his nipples with his thumbs. In response, Billy jerks his hips, rubbing his dick along the V of Brahms’ groin.

In a show of surprising strength, Billy wraps his arms around Brahms’ torso and hold his close, rutting against him. He places a series of messy kisses to the lips of Brahms’ mask, making the porcelain glisten in the lamp light.

"Fuck me! Fuck me!” Billy yells, jarring and coarse. His body is a trembling mess, letting out a long, sharp whine. “Split me in half with your big fucking cock!”

Brahms jerks back, and hold Billy down the mattress by his wrists. _“You’re being naughty,”_ he slips into his childish voice, staring down at Billy’s writhing body. _“Naughty boys don’t get to play.”_

“Filthy Billy, filthy nasty Billy,” suddenly, his voice goes shrill. “Billy! What are you doing to the baby!” His chest is heaving, and he thrashes violently from side to side, trying to loosen his wrists.

You tense up, and go to jump up. It was oh, so easy for Billy to get too excited, too overwhelmed. Set off by any little thing. _“Shhh, you’re naughty, not filthy. You’re pretty Billy, a very pretty boy.”_

Billy freezes and looks up with wide, unbelieving eyes. “P-pretty?” he asks, voice quiet and soft. “Pretty Brahmsy, th-thinks _Billy’s_ pretty?”

“Very. Can I kiss you?” Brahms asks, letting his wrists go.

Billy nods rapidly, his splaying around his head like a halo. “K-kiss me, please.”

Brahms looks over to you, where you relax down in your seat, before staring back at Billy. He reaches up and removes his mask hesitantly, letting it fall to the carpeted floor. It feels raw and strange, and Brahms wants to duck his head away.

But Billy grabs his cheeks reverently, and drinks in every detail of Brahms’s face before pulling him down.

Brahms tries to keep their kiss deep and slow and burning hot, but Billy can’t help but cling tight and make it sloppy, wet, and too erotic for you to watch.

You’re practically swimming in his clothes, so it takes very little effort to slide them off.

Brahms hears the click of a lid bottle, and when he glances over to you out of the corner of his eyes. His breath catches in his throat. He nearly pulls away when he catches your fingers slicked with lubricant, and slipping into yourself. Your face barely changes when they breach your hole, but your eyes are hooded as you watch Brahms and Billy.

Brahms lets his kisses drift away from Billy’s mouth. Down his neck and chest. The laughs Billy makes when his beard brushes against that softened, but still concave, stomach makes his head feel light. Brahms slips down between his legs, hoisting them over his shoulders, and kisses the inside of Billy’s thighs while he figures out how to tackle the daunting task in front of him.

It’s not like he’s ever sucked a dick before. Or had sex with anyone. Of course, he’s jerks himself off, and there was the instance when he ran way. You had started holding and touching him in more romantic ways, but nothing ever ventured past over the clothes petting and heady kisses.

His knowledge on straight sex were outdated, but plentiful in the old novels mummy tried hiding from him. But when it came to a man being with another man… There was an incident where Malcom had been strong armed into being a temporary nanny when daddy broke his arm, and he and mummy had to stay in the hospital for a few days.

From the years and years of being the grocery boy, he knew how to handle things around the house, and Brahms doesn’t _entirely_ hate him. He had made a decent nanny, even if he wasn’t warm and loving to the doll.

Brahms had, naturally, riffled through the duffle bag that was brought, only taking a pair of dirty boxers and hidden magazine.

A _naughty_ magazine with images of men wrapped around each other, doing such dirty things to each other.

The thought of two men together… It was nothing Brahms ever imagined before and opened up so many doors when he partook in his own pleasure. He was tempted to trap Malcom, keep him as his own to experiment with, but he would never do as a proper nanny. Malcom was best as someone who delivered groceries and took away the trash.

There were some nights, before you, when Brahms was cold and lonely, curled up on himself, that he wished he did so he could have someone to hold against himself. To tell him he was a good boy, and was handsome, and was loved.

In the particular magazine that he saw a man sucking another man’s dick. Brahms considered it a plus that unlike you, germs didn’t bother him all too much.

He pokes his tongue out, and gave a tentative lick to the underside of Billy’s dick (which despite his insistence was “big and fat”, was an average length and a little on the leaner side).

It is enough to cause Billy to jolt and clasp a hand over his mouth. It didn’t do very much to hide to long, keening shout from ripping out of his throat. It devolved into moans when Brahms closes his lips around the head, pulling Billy’s cock into his hot, wet mouth.

Billy’s thighs shake and jerk under his hands, while his hands wind tightly in his own hair. He tugs and musses up his already untidy hair while Brahms slowly works his cock. So so so so warm, and Brahms doesn’t open his mouth up wide enough, so whenever his molars graze Billy’s sensitive shaft, his hips jump, and he can’t stop the litany of breathless moans from spilling from his lips.

“Oh, oh, oh oh! Please, please pretty Brahmsy,” he only pauses to take in sharp, gasping breaths, and thrusting hard enough to send the tip of his dick slipping down Brahm’s throat, who gags and groans at the intrusion. It only eggs Billy on, to fist Brahms’ hair and fucking his mouth, his free hand gripping the sheet tightly.

And Brahms, well it stung and made tears well in the corner of his eyes when Billy uses him like this, too caught up in his own pleasure induced mania to recognize or care for Brahms’ discomfort. But he can see you, three fingers deep, muffling yourself, face flushed, and watching them with such focused intent.

And all of that will be his if he can put up with Billy being a bit rough. Of course, his erection hasn’t flagged, and he’s smearing pre-cum on the duvet. He doesn’t know if it’s his favorite, but he consoles himself that at least he can take some please out of being used. Maybe more than he is willing to admit.

If Billy was any bigger, it would hurt more, but it’s only the head of Billy’s dick that’s forcing its way into his throat.

Well, forcing is a bit too harsh of a word. Brahms had tried his best to keep his mouth and throat slack when Billy had taken control. He needs to be a very, very good boy for you. He needs to stop himself from throwing Billy off, not that he wanted to as much anymore, and hold back the tears that threaten to spill down his cheeks from arousing discomfort.

Mummy always disapproved whenever he would cry, no matter the reason. If he had been scolded, or daddy had spanked him for being naughty, or he had slipped and fallen inside the walls and now his arm was bent at a weird angle. And you had already rolled your eyes and huffed when he would cry when you were upset with him.

So if you saw him crying now, certainly you would see him as being bad, and you would change your mind.

Billy suddenly thrusts up hard, until Brahms’ nose is burrowed into the soft thatch of pubes at the base of his dick. His mouth is open in a silent scream, but nothing but small, choked sounds come out. Ropey strands of cum pulse out of his dick and directly down Brahms’ throat like when mummy would force-feed him when he was sick.

And as much as he wants to gag up the warm cum that was struggling to settle in his stomach, he wasn’t a bad boy. Brahms wants you, badly, and he will do anything for that. Billy sags down and almost melts into the plush covers and mattress. His eyes flutter shut, but not all the way. The hand that’s in his hair relaxes, and Billy instead uses it to pet the wild mess of curls. “You have a wonderful mouth, so, so pink and hot,” he giggled softly and let his hand fall away.

Brahms immediately gets up, and loomed over you. _“I was good, I played nice. Can I have my reward now?”_ Even at his full height and how demanding he sounds, anxiety crawls through his veins like ants.

“Oh Brahmsy,” you gasp when you remove your fingers. “You were so, so good. A very good boy, and you were so beautiful with Billy.”

A wide grin spreads on his lips when he hears you, and he bounces on his feet, holding his hands behind his back.

“Now go sit down on the edge of the bed for me, and I’ll give you your special treat, alright?”

Brahms had never moved faster in his life then he did then, perched and back straight. But it isn’t like you were in much of a hurry.

You strut over, wrap your hands around his shoulder, and hold tight when you crawl onto his lap. You can feel his burning member twitch against your ass as you slowly grind down on it, relishing in his whimpers and the desperate look grimacing on his face.

His hands fly to your waist, and pull you down harder against him. _“Please, I want you so bad,”_ he whines, tucking his face next yours. He can’t let you see how badly he needs this, although you already knew as much.

You grab his dick, making his hands squeeze a little bit tighter, and line it up with your entrance. “Shhh, don’t worry. I’ll take care of your Brahms,” you assure in a low voice, slowly sinking down on him. You had seen his dick dozens of times, you knew how big it was, and yet it still took you by surprise.

Brahms thrusting up to the hilt as soon as he is in doesn’t help at much. And you want to scold him, but it is such a dizzying rush when he fucks into you like a starving man. He wraps his arms around you, and holds you so close that it is a struggle to pull away to get face to face with him as he fucks you good and deep.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper in awe, ghosting your lips over his. That’s also not much of a shocker, but much like his dick, it also takes you by surprise. Instead of him thrusting too suddenly helping, it is his wet eyes and the way he looks at you like he is never going to see you again.

Brahms lets out a pained sound, and those tears spills down his face. He goes to hide against your neck, but you cup his cheeks in your hands. You kiss him, slowly and pouring your heart into it, and Brahms kissed back just as, if not more, intensely.

Though his trusting has stuttered, he still continues on. When you pull away, you stare at him with the sweetest smile he had ever seen. “You make me and Billy so, so happy Brahms. I love you so much.”

Brahms sobs, loudly, and clutches you tightly against him. He thrusts in a few more time, hard and frantic, letting out little moans from between his crying, before going still and filling you with his cum as he babbles incoherently against your lip. And God, if that doesn’t finish you off, you don’t know what would have.

Both of you fall back in bed, over a quite content Billy’s legs. Brahms is still holding you and crying, though quieter, and presses kisses to your lips.

You prop yourself up on an elbow, gazing down at him with nothing but love in your eyes, and it only makes the tears come out harder. You brush away the tears on the burned side of his face with your thumb. “Oh sweetie, if this was too much for you, you should have told me. We could’ve stopped whenever you wanted.”

He shakes his head, holding your hand against his cheek, but turns to look away. “I-I-I /wanted/ this, more than anything,” he says quietly, but in his adult voice. “But I don’t like it when you lie to me.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Loving me. You don’t, I know you don’t. Not fully. If you love Billy too, how can you love me completely?”

Billy, who had been floating in a state somewhere between rest and consciousness, shoots up. “But I love you too, pretty Brahmsy! Both of us loving you makes up for it!”

He cringes when you laugh, but calms down just fine enough when you lean down for a long kiss. “Brahmsy, even though they weren’t the best parents, you still loved both your mom and dad, right? You didn’t love one of the less just because you love the other, right?” When he nods, you give him another kiss. “It’s the same with you and Billy. I love both of you, very, very deeply. My love isn’t a finite resource.”

“Thennn, you have double the love, because I love you too,” Billy assures, in a higher tone but still his own voice. Though Brahms tries to squirm away, Brahms lets him give a kiss. “Because you’re so pretty, and you understand, and I like it when you hold me when I’m being a nasty.” He rubs his nose against Brahms’.

You smile as you watch them, and get yourself up from Brahms. You his cum trickles out of you, and as much as that turns you on, you don’t think you could take anymore. “I’m going to go get cleaned up,” leaning over to pick up Brahms’ pajamas that you discarded, you can feel him cum leaking out of you and running down your leg.

You clench up and bite your bottom lip at the sensation. Christ, Brahms came /a lot/, more than any other guy you had seen. You swap his pajamas for the tissue he was using to wipe his dick on. “Go get comfy, sweetie.”

When you leave, Billy squirms to take up his favorite position in the middle of the bed, pulling his shirt down to cover himself. Brahms doesn’t bother buttoning up his shirt, instead slips under the covers next to Billy. He tosses around an idea in his mind for a few moments, before wrapping himself around Billy like a body pillow.

Billy only freezes up briefly, before aggressively worming his way closer to Brahms. He lets out a delighted giggle, and slips his hands under Brahms’ shirt and rubs his back. “Warm…” he mutters over and over again, nosing Brahms’ furry chest. A large rushing sigh comes out from his mouth as he stops his seemingly unstoppable shivers and sinks into Brahms.

“Kiss?” Brahms asks, struggle not to slip into his childish voice.

Billy leans his head up, eyes clear and focused and warm in a way Brahms had never seem. He gives Brahms a slow, chaste kiss, before burrowing back into his chest again.

He’s already lightly snoring by the time you make it back.

You slide in on the opposite side of Billy, but everyone is so close together, Brahms can get his arms around you as well, and press your foreheads together. You tilt your head slightly to give him another quick kiss. “Goodnight Brahmsy,” you whisper.

Brahms doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes your hand tightly. 


End file.
